Strange Bend In The Road
by theSoundofLiterature
Summary: Faberry Week: Quinn picks up Rachel and Santana from school as the three former glee-mates make their way back home to Lima for the summer after Freshman year...a multitude of complications arise. This will follow each day of Faberry week prompts as it continues .
1. Road Trips and Viruses

**A/N: Hey all. Here's my Faberry Week participation. It's going to eventually encompass all of the Faberry week prompts this week. P.S. It's un-beta'ed so I apologize in advance for any and all mistakes.  
**

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

1

Quinn Fabray has always been the silent type – and although her slightly antagonistic demeanor has diminished in the years since Beth, the silence has remained. Not entirely of course, the girl's not mute; but there's a calming air about her. Those hazel eyes always buried within the pages of some book. Her mind constantly a thousand miles away, reaching into the clouds – the silence is haunting as much as it is a relief – it has never given her the confidence she once needed to believe in herself, to believe in others. It held her tongue whilst her family crumbled apart, it didn't speak the words traipsing across her heart – the pain at the mistake a young Rachel Berry was undoubtedly making. The silence never told her she was good enough. And now that she's done something with her life, succeeded, with some small ounce of success – she won't let it drown her. She'll revel in its lack of power. She's already begun to build burned bridges, starting with one - golden like the sun, its trail ending in New York City. She shifts her new Chevrolet _Traverse_ into first gear, the rings on her fingers glinting in the Connecticut sun and her eyes following the signs to New York – the clouds parting, her radio blasting, engulfing her within a world of colors and sounds.

2

"Quinn! You've made it!" Rachel Berry sees that new-ish _Traverse_ pull up curbside, and she runs down the stairs and through the lobby of Ailey Hall, her Nike's skipping across the carpet and tiling until she's out in the city sun, breathing in air and gasoline, hot dog carts and _people_. She really does love New York, more than she could have ever imagined. And if Finn Hudson ever did something right by her—it was letting her go. _It was letting her go_. She strides over to the familiar blonde, leaning up against a black Chevy, all jean clad legs and bright smiles – she meets her halfway between curb and sidewalk – somewhere in between. And if there's something Rachel Berry will never again take for granted, it's those legs. Moving back and forth, only the slightest limp in her gait if you're looking for it. And it's perfect…it's perfect.

"I did. It wasn't a bad drive at all." New York has been good to Rachel Berry in many more ways than one, Quinn thinks as she holds her. Arms folding around a small waist, nose falling to rest around brown hair pulled up into a ponytail.

"Got your bags? Your dorm room checked out?" Quinn asks, she can't help the slight husk that falls after each word. She clears her throat, stepping back, gathering both some space and her wits.

"As you are aware Quinn, I am always prompt…my bags are waiting in the lobby."

Quinn smiles, following Rachel inside, admiring the paintings on the walls of the lobby – even though she's already seen them a few times over – those Metro passes having been put to good use. The atmosphere is rife with the activity that befalls dorm room move outs and end of the year goodbyes. Her eyes follow Rachel's line of sight as she waves goodbye to a short brunette with freckles and dark green eyes, a smile on her face.

"Happy summer, Melanie." Her voice floating musically across the emptying lobby.

"Thanks, Rachel. Don't get too bored in Ohio while we're gone, Skype me, Okay?"

Rachel smiles from next to Quinn, nodding her head fiercely before running up and crushing the girl in a firm hug. By the time she returns, there are the faintest traces of tears in her eyes. Quinn averts her gaze, instead focusing on grabbing Rachel's bags and boxes, carrying them outside to the waiting car. After not too long, Rachel follows, and soon the two find themselves closing the trunk and strapping themselves in for the long haul; nothing but road and highway looming within their immediate horizon.

"Ready to hit the road, Berry?"

"As I'll ever be, Quinn."

Quinn smiles, shifting once again into first; and as they depart New York City, heading Southwest for Kentucky – the sun doesn't forget to shine brightly on them from above through the clear sunroof. And once again, the need for silence is all but forgotten as the humming trills of Rachel's voice take over the small cabin.

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY

Santana Lopez is probably more eager than she'd ever care to admit about going back home to Lima. She'd kill you before she'd say anything, but there's a girl waiting for her there that she hasn't seen in _months_ and it's killing her. She pushes her aviators up and over her nose, letting the humid heat settle over her shoulders. One thing she's happy with out here, is the fact that she doesn't have to wear that stupid fucking Cheerio outfit all the goddamn time. Of course she traded it in for another Cheerleading Uniform, those Sylvester rules don't apply – and so for her end of the year "bustin' outta this joint" attire, she's settled on something much more "loose-fitting" if you will. Santana also can't say that she's excited for this road trip – she heard Fabray mentioning planning a trip back to Lima with Berry because it was _economical, _and she couldn't pass up the free ride, or the supreme opportunity to cock-block Fabray. Girl needs to be just fuck Berry already and be done with it, it's turned into a drag if you ask her.

3

"There she is, Quinn!" Rachel beams from the passenger seat. She motions to the familiar form of Santana Lopez, sitting down on the curb outside of her dorm room with a candy cane in her mouth and aviators on. She's wearing the smallest pair of shorts Rachel's ever seen, and nothing more than a wife beater on top. She's sweaty, Kentucky is _h__ot_. And Rachel isn't quite sure how long she's been sitting out here waiting for you in the heat. But one thing's for sure…Santana Lopez has always been a knockout, despite the attitude. Rachel gulps quickly, turning her head away to smile shyly at Quinn, a flush to her cheeks as she clears her throat. Their Chevy pulls up curbside, and Quinn smiles back as she gets out of the car, running over to embrace Santana over by the sidewalk, all dark and blonde hair entangled within the embrace.

"Get out here, hobbit. you know you missed Auntie 'Tana too." Santana barks from over one of Quinn's shoulders. And Rachel can't help but smile, not realizing just how much she's missed that biting tongue. She jolts out of the car, ponytail swishing in the breeze as she skips over to the darker haired brunette, smiling shyly before wrapping her up in a squeezing hug.

"Hello to you too, Santana."

4

The car ride is anything but quiet as they make their way out of Louisville, the trunk and back seat much more full than it was when they entered the sweltering city. Quinn hits the AC just as she reaches for her Ray Bans, pulling them swiftly down and over her eyes as she merges onto the highway, headed for Indiana.

"You bitches missed the shit out of me, admit it."

Quinn rolls her eyes from behind her shades, catching Rachel doing the same from across the console. She bites her lip, hiding a smile, neither one of you doing the snarky occupant of the backseat the pleasure of answering.

"Fuck you too."

Quinn husks out a laugh, and turns her head slightly when she sees Rachel turn to look at her with a bashful smile on her face – something dazed and altogether goofy, all hot skin and dark brown eyes.

"Hey." Rachel whispers.

"Hey." Quinn mutters in return – just before a honk breaks the connection just as a car merges drastically into their lane; causing Quinn to swerve slightly out of the way. From the backseat Santana Lopez snickers inconspicuously into her palm – unheard, and almost entirely forgotten.

5

It's been a long drive, through Pennsylvania and part of Ohio even before they arrived in Kentucky, and Quinn can feel her eyes drooping as she maneuvers the car just outside of Lousiville. They're supposed to be heading North, a straight shot through Cincinnati and upward – but somehow she's let Rachel convince her to take a break, the three of them stopping somewhere near Lexington at a BBQ joint. Quinn wonders why Rachel would have picked a place like this when she can't eat meat, but she sees her asking questions and observing the pictures on the wall like this is her favorite place in the world – and Quinn can't help but smile. Rachel ends up ordering a wild berry salad with raspberry vinaigrette and fresh rolls, whilst Santana and Quinn settle for short ribs and brisket. And as they all eat, Quinn can't help but smile softly as Rachel engages them both in light conversation, her bare knee brushing up against a jean clad thigh from underneath the table. Santana Lopez is none the wiser, but the drive through Pennsylvania and Southern Ohio before getting to Louisville, had been rife with an electricity unexplainable. The space between them loud, despite the silence – soft brushes of hands as Quinn shifted the gear stick, shy smiles too and fro in between rest stops - Bright eyes lingering on the other as they entered new state lines. And with Santana now in tow, things haven't changed much, despite the change in scenery.

And it is with that in mind that Quinn convinces Rachel to follow her outside and into her _Traverse_ out along the side of the road – the two of them having left Santana at the motel, asleep in her bed. The night is bright and luminous in Lexington, the stars brilliant. And whilst the two them recline in the front and passenger seats and stare up through the open sunroof at the stars – Quinn can't help her hand from intertwining with the small one next to it. Neither can she help her lips from crossing the distance between them in the dark. Things like this…can't always be helped, she supposes.

And everything is bright_. Everything is loud._

EVANSVILLE, INDIANA

Rachel won't be the one to speak the words, but she can tell that something's wrong. She had awoken that morning alongside Quinn, in her Chevy. Dew sticking to her skin from the open sunroof, the sound of cows and horses in the far off distance awakening her in the early morning – the two of them hadn't meant to stay out for that long, and with a shy smile, she'd tapped Quinn on the shoulder, kissing her nose. The two of them had woken up in a haze of bubbly eyes and tender brushes of skin and heat, and Rachel wonders now – how they had waited for so long. She probably would have planned a road trip a long time ago if she'd known that Quinn Fabray's heart would be the outcome. But at the moment that's neither here nor there, because once they arrived back at the Motel, it was to find a heaving Santana – all angry scared eyes, wielding a baseball bat over the dead body of the Motel Attendant, Steve. Blood splattered all over her SpongeBob boxer briefs.

Rachel had screamed of course, running for the body, trying to save the dying man – only to realize that he wasn't really man at all, all dead skin and purple veins. Yellowed eyes and hollowed cheeks. She remembers the thought as it passed through her addled brain – that something, _was not right._

"That fucker attacked me! I opened the door, b-b-because…and he…and I." It's all hyper-ventilations and breath, and pounding heartbeats in their motel room, which now smells like the copper infusion of blood and hemoglobin. And Rachel's pretty sure that Quinn is about to call the police…until she sees _her_. Ambling up from the side railing outside of the door, the maid – all pale skin, and young dead eyes. A limp in that unnatural gait. And this time it's Quinn who snatches the bat out of Santana's hands, just as the young woman makes a lunge for Rachel's calf, sprawling herself across the carpet in a wide arc.

The baseball bat makes contact with a resounding crunch. And this time it's Rachel who has to splutter around a face full of blood splatter.

And that is how the three of them have ended up in Indiana. Fleeing something far more permanent than circumstance.

6

They managed to scout a police station outside of Lexington…_deserted_. They dialed the 911 hotline only to get static, and when Rachel turned on the television in an abandoned office space just outside of Lexington, it was to see the griping news of _something_, having taken course just over the last few days, spreading West. A virus, located in origin just outside of Fiji, spreading like wildfire across the globe in a mutiny of outbreaks. The words _contamination_, and _evacuate_ are abundant…

Santana throws up on the side of the road.

Quinn isn't far behind.


	2. Schnucks and Patron

**A/N: Wow, thanks for reading guys. Okay, day three, again mistakes...all me.**

ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI

7

Santana's driving. They were all in need of the switch - Quinn's hands having grown too shaky to maintain the wheel. It's nearly dusk, and Santana can see the sun creeping down below the trees in the horizon. They pass abandoned cars along the old roads as they cut through southern Illinois, easing right past a blood spattered "Welcome to Missouri!" road sign. They would be in Ohio by now if the situation hadn't grown quite so perilous, after over 24 hours on the run, they haven't been able to make contact with anyone. Most of the cell phone towers are done, as is the electricity in most of the southern belt. What information they do find, comes through Quinn and Santana's iPhones, which now work as shoddy iPod's. The batteries are dying, and they have to alternate, because using the satellite Internet feed is draining. They've managed to track a Sirius station still up and running, a Classic Vinyl's station that has dwindled into what has now become the prime news outlet on the satellite radio frequency. Rachel has it playing in the backseat, her eyes darting between the falling sun and the deserted road.

"_More news…sorry, break - … Orlando, to Montpelier…West as Phoenix._"

"You can't get that thing to transmit better, Berry?" Santana snaps from the drivers seat – there's no malice behind her words, but it doesn't stop the bite, she bites her tongue, stopping the deluge of angry insults, because none of this is Berry's fault. No matter how annoying she typically finds the girl to be.

"It's the connection on their side that's breaking up, Santana. We can't do anything about it…I'm sorry." And for fuck's sake, now Berry's crying – her eyes wide and glassy – she's trying hard to cover it up, and none of the tears actually fall. But _fuck_, if Santana didn't feel like an even bigger bitch before, she definitely does now.

8

"Have you heard anything about Brittany?"

"No."

And that's that, Santana won't let Quinn see her cry, not like this.

9

They've managed to hole themselves up in an old abandoned lumber warehouse on the outskirts of Oakville, Missouri. The car had to be ditched along the side of the road, the gas meter out. And they've been traveling on foot for the last eight hours or so, starved and exhausted. Quinn is hot, the heat stifling them all in a humid mask – she reaches for her shirt and rips it clean over her head, the sheen of sweat on her skin instantly cooling. Rachel sees her and her gaze lingers on soft, pale abdominals – a tiny freckle along one of Quinn's ribs – before following suit. Her v-neck falling to the dirty concrete, floating down through the air. Santana is quick to indulge the other two, removing everything except for her underwear, but not forgetting to let the taped knife stay strapped across her thigh, compliments of a recent Home Depot raid.

"You never know." She mutters, before falling down to the concrete and resting her back against the dirt.

"San, we can't just lay out here in plain sight, that's how people get killed."

"Fuck smart, I'm _sweltering_..."

None of them have discussed what's transpired in so many words, but they all feel it, underneath their skin and within their bones. How do you go back to normal after killing someone…_something_. By the time they'd left the hotel, hands shaking, stomach's churning, skin pale – blood spattered. There wasn't much to say, not that they could even say much at all. And Quinn often finds herself staring at her hands, the joints and tendons flexing beneath the skin – and she still can't believe that she's used them to take life. To rip it away… it makes her feel empty. She won't even let her mind wander to her daughter, almost three – Elizabeth Grace Corcoran will only be remembered in the peaceful silence of Quinn's steady mind, because the truth could be too painful…much too painful for any of them. She follows suit, and finds herself squatting down onto the dirty concrete, her dirty jeans torn at the knees and oil stained.

And there's Rachel, staring between the two of them with far away eyes. Her face is much harder than Quinn would like to admit – things like this change people, she supposes, a sigh escaping her lips as she extends a grimy hand.

"Come, sit."

Rachel stares her down, eyes silent – the color almost gone. She doesn't move. Her chest heaving, her breathing deep.

"Rachel, _please_…it's okay, it'll be okay."

And Quinn watches her eyes, all empty and pained. And Rachel begins a slow gait, falling down into Quinn's arms, and the blonde cradles her to her chest. Almost all skin touching from the waist up in the heat, and she can feel that small body shuddering beneath her fingertips, almost cracking from the weight of her grief.

"My Dads…Quinn, _my parents_."

And Quinn notices that Santana has rolled over onto her side, providing the two of them a small ounce of privacy in this old abandoned warehouse, despite the close proximity of their bodies.

"I know sweetheart…_shh_, I know."

GRANITE CITY, MISSOURI

10

Rachel thinks she sees a shooting star somewhere up there in the night sky, out of her periphery she spots a stray Tabby, weaving in and around abandoned dumpsters and rotting garbage – left to decompose along the side of the bins. No one told her that the post apocalyptic world would smell so bad. She shifts her eyes forward again, on the empty Schnucks Grocery outlet. The parking lot is semi-deserted save for the occasional abandoned trashed vehicle. There are bodies left in some of them, half-eaten, or just dead. Rachel smells them too as she follows behind Santana Lopez and up to the wide glassy double doors.

This particular Shnucks has already been broking into, but it won't hurt to look for non-perishable and canned food items while they're here. She can feel Quinn's fingers clutching into the back of her ratty t-shirt, keeping lookout behind them as they move forward as a unit. Rachel clenches her eyes shut when Santana beams a torch into the darkness, scouring the location, as her boot covered feet rustle over glass and left behind goods. They soon find themselves by the checker aisles. Some of the stacks having been left abandoned are tilted, food splayed out across the aisles, jars of tomato sauce and peaches…the vegetable and fruit aisles full of fruit flies and the seedlings of maggots.

"It smells terrible in here." She shrieks around the collar of her shirt. She feels a hand reach over, gripping her by the cheeks, covering her mouth. And it's Santana – eyes wide in the darkness.

"Shut the fuck up, midget. Get over it, and shut UP."

Rachel nods between a swallow. She feels Quinn's fingers pat her back soothingly, rubbing back and forth as her fingers clench. The three of them amble forward through the aisles collecting whatever can be salvaged. Cans of soup, and pasta boxes. Quinn finds some knives and pockets them, Santana heads for the beverage aisle looking for water. It's a few moments before Santana returns with her goods, and Rachel is sure she's about to suffocate around the smell of rotting food – until she opens her mouth in shock – the darker haired brunette strutting up the aisle in her immediate field of vision. Santana must have forgotten about the water, because all Rachel sees in her arms are bottles…and _bottles _of alcohol. And she's pretty sure, that despite it being the end of the world as she knows it…they're all still _underage_.

"Look what Auntie 'Tana found." She grins, her arms almost collapsing from the weight of the handles she's juggling.

"Holy shit, where'd you find that?"

"Aisle 3, motherfuckers."

And before Rachel can hold her back, Quinn is sneaking off and around the corner, only to return back a few minutes later with almost as much if not more alcohol in her hands than Santana had carried.

"This is ILLEGAL."

"This is me not giving a fuck." Santana rebuts, and soon she's sitting her pretty little behind on the linoleum floor and popping open a bottle of _Absolut_ Peach, taking a hefty swig.

"Fuck, that was a mistake… Berry make yourself useful and find some juice or something, aisle four."

And Rachel just sees Quinn laughing – and she hasn't seen that smile in much too long – and so in a daze she agrees, if only to see Quinn smiling like that again. By the time she returns, Quinn is nursing a bottle of _Jameson_ and you wonder how the two of them have managed to drink this stuff straight like this.

"Here, Berry, join the Apocalypse party." And Santana is handing over a six pack of _Twisted Tea_, a slow grin on her face. Rachel has the gall to be outraged…because fuck it, she wants a bottle too if she's going to be a delinquent with the likes of these two, and Santana just laughs at her. All teeth and dark eyes.

"I want a big bottle, too." She pouts. Santana pats the six pack of Tea with a satisfied smirk.

"Ask that question again once you've knocked those back, lightweight."

And Rachel frowns, lifting a small bottle out of the cardboard container. If she's going to do it, she's going to do it right, she decides – uncapping the bottle. Her first taste is sweet, and warm – the drinks having been un-chilled for quite some time now. But _damn_...it's good. And she knows, that maybe – this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

11

Quinn's pretty sure she's hammered. But she smiles through the blur, and the fallen things in the darkness of the abandoned grocery store. She feels Santana laughing into her shoulder, hands gripped onto a fresh bottle of _Patron_…and Quinn steals it from her, taking a hearty gulp. Fuck if Tequila is a terrible decision, it tastes magical.

"Okay, Okay." She slurs, dropping the bottle forcefully to the tile and watching it's contents splash out of the lid.

"Rachel, are you drinking, yet?" She mumbles around a smile. And there's Rachel, leaning against the shelf across the narrow aisle, wide smile brimming her face as she knocks back the last of the sixth bottle of Twisted Tea in her carton.

"I told you Satan, I'm not a lightweight, I want the good stuff now Carlos." Rachel trills around a slur, her tongue loose as she leans forward on her palms, shoving Santana in the shoulder. Santana manages a grunt before kicking over an unopened bottle of _Burnett's _Watermelon.

"Don't call me Carlos, Berry-juice. That's fucking disrespectful." Santana slurs darkly before unscrewing her bottle of Tequila and knocking back another shot's worth.

"Why?" Rachel inquires, before opening her own bottle and taking a dainty sip – a grimace on her face before she knocks it back for a shot. Quinn has to stop her from drinking the stuff like water, laughing as she brings the bottle down and out of Rachel's sloppy little hands.

"Because, Carlos isn't here to defend himself, Little Big Planet."

"Isn't that a video game?" Quinn asks, biting her bottom lip as she scoots over to Rachel's side, their bodies hot.

"Fuck no, it's a fucking TV show, Fabray…duh. Little People, Big World, that's Rachel's extended family."

"That's not what you said though."

"Yea it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yes, the fuck it is Q."

"No the fuck not, S."

"You tryin' to start shit with me right now?"

"And what if I am?"

"I could beat your ass, Wonder bread "

"Wonder bread is gross." Quinn pauses, thinking about the processed bread. Her head spinning around a laugh as she falls across Rachel's lap to look up into those dark eyes. Rachel is looking down at her now, the bottle still clutched between one of her hands, as she hums softly. Something unintelligible as her free hand comes down to smack Quinn in the face.

"Owwww…" Quinn whines, and Rachel does it again while she laughs goofily.

"I was trying to stroke your cheek romantically, because that is what is usually portrayed in romantic films, but my distance and space bodily correlations must be off because of the drunk-ness."

"What the fuck?" Santana mumbles, before slumping over onto her back to stare at one of the ceiling vents.

Quinn clutches onto her nose with wobbly hands, her teeth biting her bottom lip as she stares up at the still grinning Rachel. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's their shared impending doom, but Quinn can't stop the word vomit, and soon enough it's too late to care.

"You're beautiful, you're like…you're my star. My North Star." She slurs.

"Huh?" Rachel mumbles, her face falling down to stare at Quinn's from a distance of about two inches.

"Whenever I'm lost, I can just look up and follow you home.." She whispers, those hazel eyes suddenly glassy, and wet and before Quinn can realize the gravity of the words she's just whispered, there are lips crashing down on hers sloppily from above. Rachel tastes like Watermelon and Iced Tea, and Quinn has a feeling that maybe this is the best memory that she'll ever have before she dies…

Of Rachel, losing herself to her, the two of them completely lost within one another in the darkness of an abandoned Grocery Store.

From nearby, Santana snores peacefully against faded linoleum.


	3. Color Values

SPRINGGIELD, ILLINOIS

12

They managed to find an abandoned Honda Civic Hatchback in the garage of a raided house, stowed away under a sheet. There was an almost full tank, and oil cans laying around the dusty shelves. It took a fill, and then Rachel was in the drivers seat because her feet were the least tired. They've made it North to Illinois, back on track toward Ohio, and so far all they've come across are dead bodies. The ipod's are dead, and Rachel is pretty sure that the Sirius radio station is probably down by now anyway. There are a few guns in the hatch, they found a couple of those too in a few of the emptied homes – Missouri apparently having more lax personal gun laws. One of them is a Remington Rifle, the other is a Shotgun – there's ammo under one of the cramped seats. As darkness descends, they find themselves outside of an abandoned nightclub. The doors opened, some of the windows smashed in, and it's Rachel's idea that perhaps they could all find something of use inside…more food, and water. Santana is the first to disagree, she snatches the wheel out of Rachel's small hands from the backseat, the car swerving across the deserted road.

"Santana! You'll kill us!"

"That's where we're fucking headed anyway if we stop and go into every fucking building that looks somewhat approachable. People are _infected_, Rachel."

"We can't take risks like that." This time Quinn is looking over with a sad frown on her face, her shoulders shrugging. Rachel bites her lip sharply, squaring her shoulders with narrowed eyes.

"We have no food! What we've rationed will only get us through tomorrow night at best." She argues, her gaze lingering towards Santana in the rearview mirror who's sneaking peanuts and walnuts into her mouth hungrily.

"And if Santana keeps eating all of our protein, we'll be dead of malnourishment even before the zombie- whatevers get us first.'" Quinn has the decency too look back with a scowl, and Rachel is grateful that maybe she has an in, because really – they won't make it on Twinkies and Candy Bars, and Cereal Boxes. They need real food, most perishable goods already unavailable or rotted whenever they're found. The meat is a no go, unless hunted – and that leaves Rachel with a supply of canned beans and peas, dehydrated fruits and powdered milk. Being a vegan in a time like this is not the most economical thing for her survival…it's a thing that isn't spoken – Rachel's betrayal, she won't let them know that she spent all night violently throwing up after drinking Carnation mixed with an iodized water solution from Santana's canteen. But sacrifices must be made.

Sacrifice.

And if that means that they're going into an abandoned nightclub for goods. Than so be it.

"We're going."

"Who died and made you Queen of this small infantry?" Santna rebuts, but she has no fire, because Rachel's already turned the small Honda around and into the parking lot.

"Grab the guns."

13

It's eerily quiet in the post apocalyptic world Quinn thinks – and this truth alone is enough to set her off – because she's worked so hard for the _sound_, only to see it striped away. There's a shotgun holstered over her shoulder, they managed to find a gun shop and rifle range somewhere in –between Missouri and Illinois, and made us of all of the holsters and casings. Her hair falls down and into her eyes, which are already stinging from her perspiration. The air is stale, and rank with something that Quinn can't quite place. She still has on her ripped oil stained jeans, and light hoodie. It stands out in the darkness, whatever moonlight that streams in from the windows reflecting off of the soft material.

"Quinn, you're glowing. You're too easily visible!" Santana fumes into the darkness as they weave through turned over tabletops and stools. The bar has been completely obliterated, and alcohol pools and sticks at their feet. They're all too goddamn visible really. Rachel with reflective Nike's and Santana with a v-neck and shorts. At least Quinn and Santana have on boots, but really – the pieces of their meager wardrobes that they were able to save, are not apocalypse worthy and Quinn sort of feels like a sitting duck.

"There's nothing here, short stuff." Rachel is in the back, a pout on her face. Quinn knows that she feels bad that she's made you all follow her for nothing.

"Sorry, I really thou –" But before those words can be spoken in their entirety, Rachel's eyes widen as she focuses on a focal point just behind Quinn's shoulder and to Santana's immediate right. Quinn stands transfixed as she watches Rachel run for her waist, small hands grabbing and yanking at the shotgun hanging around her shoulder, unlocking the safety before pulling it down and aiming. There's a blast of a round, the cartridge flying, smoking through the air…and Quinn just manages to jump away and spin around in order to see the falling form of an infected woman bleeding out along the tile.

"Out, out, out!" Santana yells, and before the door can swing, they're in the Honda Civic, speeding away to hide somewhere in the darkness.

14

"We need a new wardrobe, something less conspicuous. We look like college students on the run…we need to blend in. We need clothes that will allow us the comfort we need in order to really do this."

"So you're saying we need to raid the closest Super Wal-Mart." Santana mumbles.

"Yea, I guess."

15

"I didn't think I'd ever see the day again, Fabray…but Pink works for you." Santana runs a ripped t-shirt over Quinn's newly died tresses, drying out the ends as they all sit huddled together around a campfire in an old campsite. The rocks at the bottom of the water spigot they found have all been stained _Luscious Pink_, along with Santana's hands – but the darker haired girl doesn't particularly mind as she stares down at her handiwork. Quinn sits on the dirt in a bra and black dirtied jeans, a smirk on her face.

"I guess I've sorta missed it." Quinn smiles, as she runs her fingers through her damp hair, pulling down long strands of her bangs to observe the dye.

"I don't – you smelled like shit when you were a Skank." Quinn tweaks her lips as Santana runs a few of her fingers through the damp hair – formerly golden.

"You look like a pink shaggy dog."

"Screw you too."

"Sorry, I don't do Punk wannabees."

And suddenly there are close footsteps approaching and Rachel Berry appears from around the corner of a few trees, soaking wet hair falling around her face as she wipes her eyes.

"Can I borrow that t-shirt?" She asks, and Santana hands it over, a grimace on her face. "It's covered in pink hair dye, you sure?"

"Yea, just give it here." And Rachel rings out her hair over her shoulder in one motion before grabbing for the damp cotton and running it through her locks. The sun is falling, and the change in the girl's hair can't be seen through the dampness. But when she pulls the t-shirt away, it's infused with blue dye to go along with the pink.

"Wha –" Santana mumbles, and then Rachel's smiling despite the smudges of dye that have stuck to her hands.

"I think blue was a good choice, don't you?"

15

They're a motley crüe of sorts if Quinn squints her eyes just the right way. Looking through abandoned car windows and broken storefront glass at the reflections that mirror back at her as they pass…and only a few weeks ago, she would never have even recognized herself. Let alone Rachel. Their heavy boots crunch in the broken glass strewn across the street, black heavy men's jeans hang loosely over her hips, and Quinn tucks a blade securely back onto her holster, the cut off black t-shirt and shirtless vest billowing out behind the slenderness of her torso.

Also her hair is brilliant.

Bright like a sunset that she remembers when times weren't so perilous.

16

_Pink: __**n**_**.** Any of a group of colors with a reddish hue that are of low to moderate saturation and can usually reflect or transmit a large amount of light; a pale reddish tint.

17

Blue: n. the pure color of a clear sky; the primary color between green and violet in the visible spectrum, an effect of light with a wavelength between 450 and 500 nm.

18

Rachel can feel Quinn's fingers pulling at the ends of her purple-d highlights, twining them around her fingers. The palne-ness of her skin against the browned hue is shocking in dusk – she turns her head softly to the side, to glance at the sun, falling behind flatland and hills, tall abandoned buildings and clouds.

"I've liked you for a long time, Quinn. Even before the drama."

Quinn hums from behind her thoughtfully. She can almost hear the gears working soundlessly beneath that pink head as they lay in silence atop their packs, on the roof of an old dry cleaning building. The blonde leans forward, and Rachel can hear the sound of her breaths as she whispers close-by, at the rim of her ear.

"I've loved you longer."

And then Rachel swivels, watching those pale hands fall away from lavender, small deep smile toying at her lips as her eyes sparkle. They haven't sparkled like this in quite a long time…too long, too long.


End file.
